


Skittles

by sreside94



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Adorable Pavel Chekov, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, Kid Pavel Chekov, Love isn't logical, M/M, skittles meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25269919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sreside94/pseuds/sreside94
Summary: Jim and Spock return from a mission. Jim realizes that he forgot to get Chekov the skittles.Based on this meme: https://tinyurl.com/y8saxzuz
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 13
Kudos: 90





	Skittles

**Author's Note:**

> This is only my second attempt at dabbling in writing fics. It was super fun to write, and I welcome gentle feedback!

_Fuck_ , Jim thought as he stepped on board the _USS Enterprise_. He gritted his teeth. He must have made an involuntary noise of frustration or something because his thoughts were interrupted.

“Captain?” The voice of Commander Spock came from behind him. “Your breathing is heavier than usual, and your shoulders just tensed. What is troubling you?”

Jim sighed. “It’s nothing,” he said as Spock lengthened his stride slightly to match Jim’s pace.

“You are not a very good liar, Captain.”

“I forgot to get Pavel a present.”

“I do not understand. You did not indicate to Chekov that you would return with a gift. Surely—”

“It’s just what you do, Spock.” Jim halted suddenly, and Spock, who had not registered that Jim had stopped for a few paces, spun on his heel to face Jim. Spock tilted his head slightly, waiting for Jim to explain. “It’s what parents do when they go on a trip. They bring back something for their kid. And his name is Pavel.”

“Yes, Pavel Chekov,” Spock said with a slight frown. He nodded once. “Life does not always go according to plan. It is a valuable lesson for our son to learn.”

“Ughh, that’s not the problem.” Jim started to walk again.

Spock, used to Jim’s erratic nature, matched Jim’s pace without changing his breathing pattern. “It was not an explicit expectation, Captain.”

“Parents get souvenirs for their kids when they go on trips. I have to find something for Chekov. It’ll break his heart otherwise.”

“Not only is that anatomically impossible—”

“It’s an expression, Spock!”

“Not only is it impossible, Jim, but it is highly unlikely that your failure would affect Chekov to such an extreme degree.”

“So now I’m a bad mother?” Jim demanded, stopping at the lift door.

“I do not see how you came to that conclusion. Of course, you’re—”

Jim held an arm out to hold Spock back as the lift doors opened. “I need some time alone.”

Spock was left staring at the lift doors closing on Jim.

* * *

Spock felt that his understanding of human emotions would never quite be sufficient. Though he realized that it was illogical to think he could master the subject of human emotions, he couldn’t help thinking that it was a language in which he would never be fluent.

Jim was a particularly vexing human, but, of course, that’s what made him particularly alluring as well. Spock was thinking about the nature of human emotions when something small and loud ran into his waist.

“Father, Father! You’re back!” Bright eyes looked up at Spock from Chekov’s young face. The child was smiling and stepping back from his hug.

“Hello, I see you continue to enjoy an abundance of energy.” Spock’s lips curved up ever so slightly in what for him was an indulgent smile, for anyone else, however, it would not have registered as a change in emotion.

“Yes, Father. I have much energy,” Chekov said. “I am happy you’re home. Did you buy me skittles? I was super good.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You did not request skittles before my departure. Did you ask the Captain for some?”

“No, asked you. I said I wanted skittles. And you said, ‘Skittles are illogical.’ And I said, ‘So?’ Don’t you remember, Father?”

Spock thought back to the exchange. “Ah, but you did not specifically ask me to bring you skittles. You merely expressed a fleeting desire for some.”

“What’s _fleeting_?” Chekov asked, but then hurried on. “Daddy was there too. He remembered, right?”

“Fleeting means brief. I understood your desire for skittles to be something you wanted in the moment.”

“But did Daddy remember them?”

“He did not mention skittles in particular, but he did say that parents bring back souvenirs for their children.” Spock did not lie. It wasn’t even the principle of it; it was just illogical. However, he often found himself telling Chekov half-truths. “Go practice your Romulan with Lieutenant Uhura. We will eat dinner together this evening.”

Chekov nodded and scurried down the corridor to find Uhura. When he was out of sight, Spock took out his communicator from his pocket and spoke into it.

“Jim, you were correct. Chekov expects a gift. I am going to our quarters. At your next availability, please join me to develop a new course of action.”

* * *

“I told you, Spock!” Jim said as he burst into their private living quarters.

“Yes, you did.”

Jim sighed. Spock’s logical nature made it hard to for Jim to gloat, something Jim would forever be disappointed about.

Spock was sitting at his desk with his chair swivelled to the side so he could face Jim, who was still standing in the doorway one hand on his hip. Spock motioned to the armchair to his left. Jim stretched his harms upwards as he sat. “So, Chekov mentioned he was expecting a present then?”

It was Spock’s turn to sigh. “Yes, he is quite sure that he requested skittles before we left. Though I am positive he did not phrase his desire as a request.”

“Huh. I think I vaguely remember that conversation. Good thing skittles are popular on Earth.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure _someone_ on board has some,” Jim said. “Let’s go find some skittles!”

* * *

The first person they tried was Dr. McCoy. Spock thought Jim was far too optimistic about their chances. Dr. McCoy was a physician whose vices were purely alcoholic. Spock was proved right as they left McCoy’s office with him yelling after them, “I’m a doctor, Jim, not a vending machine!”

“I believe it is my right to say, ‘I told you so,’” Spock said quietly.

“I guess it is,” Jim said cheerily. “I thought he might have a secret stash. Oh, well. Let’s try Uhura.”

“Lieutenant Uhura is currently reviewing Chekov’s Romulan. Best not to bother them.”

“Okay. Sulu?”

“Yes. That is the logical next step.”

They found Sulu practicing in the combat gym. He was sparring with a younger officer Spock didn’t recognize, though Jim greeted them both by name. Jim and Spock leaned against the wall, watching until there was a break in the flow of hits as the younger man fell.

“Captain,” Sulu said, wiping his brow with a cloth. “What do you need?”

“Who says I need anything?”

“Well, you and Commander Spock wouldn’t be here together in uniform if you were here to train.”

“You are correct, Mr. Sulu,” Spock answered. “We are here to inquire as to whether or not you have in your pos—”

“Jesus, Spock,” Jim cut in. “Sulu, do you have any skittles?”

“Skittles, sir?”

“Yeah. I was supposed to get Chekov some on our last trip Earth-side and I completely forgot.”

“Sorry, no, sir. I don’t have any.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” Jim clapped a hand on Sulu’s shoulder. “Thanks, anyway. And nice form out there.”

“Thanks, sir.”

Jim nodded, and he and Spock made their way out of the gym. Spock’s communicator beeped from his pocket. He glanced at Jim, who shrugged and raised his eyebrows, and answered it.

“This is Commander Spock.” He listened for a few moments. “I see,” he said to the person on the other side of the conversation. “No, that is logical. Thank you for helping him today…. Yes…Are you currently in his presence?... Good. Now, do you have any skittles in your possession?... Ah, of course. We will see you at the next briefing.”

“Uhura doesn’t have any either?” Jim asked as Spock put away his communicator.

“No. Also, she and Chekov have finished their lessons for the day. She said he’s anxious for us to eat dinner together.”

“Okay. Well, you go head him off and start making dinner together. I’ll see if Scotty can save our bacon.”

“Jim, you are aware your colloquialisms are nonsensical—”

“You love them,” Jim said. He leaned in and kissed Spock quickly before saying, “Now, go distract our son.”

* * *

Chekov was sitting Spock’s desk when Spock arrived back at their quarters. Chekov looked up from some 3D mathematical equation he was doing on his tablet.

“Father!”

“Chekov. How were your lessons today?” Spock asked in Romulan.

“They were good, Father. Lieutenant Uhura says my Romulan is adequate.”

“And how is your Vulcan?”

Chekov took a moment to register the shift in language but adapted quickly enough, replying in Vulcan. “It’s adequate as well.” Vulcan changed into English as Chekov grew impatient. “Father, can I have my skittles now please?”

“Dinner first, _dorogoy_. If the Captain has brought you a gift, you may open it after.”

“But, Father.”

“No. What sustenance shall we prepare for dinner?”

Chekov’s eyes lit up. “Instant noodles!”

Spock’s eyes narrowed. “How many of the four human food groups does that meal consist of?”

“One, Father.”

“And how many are required for a healthy meal?”

“Four.”

“Good. Let us find a meal with all four food groups. Perhaps a lasagne?”

“No, Father—that takes forever to make!”

Spock sighed. He didn’t have much experience with human children, so he didn’t know if all of them were like this or if Chekov took after Jim in his stubbornness. With Jim at least, the trick was to distract him with something else he could throw himself into fully. Spock hoped that cooking a meal together would both give Jim enough time to find the skittles and immerse Chekov in a new experience.

“Omelettes!” Chekov said.

Spock hesitated, searching for a reason not to make something that was finished in under ten minutes. Finally, he said, “That is breakfast food.”

“Breakfast for dinner is a thing.”

“That is not logical. Choose something else.”

“Pizza! It’s Russian, you know”

“That is incorrect—Pizza is a traditionally Italian cuisine. Let’s make _pelmeni_.”

“ _Da_!”

They set to work finding the ingredients for the dumplings: pork and onion for Jim and Chekov, and cabbage, mushroom, carrot, and lentils for Spock. While Spock’s reasoning that Chekov should learn to cook at eleven years old was purely logical, it did provide an opportunity for them to spend time together.

Often Chekov and Spock would spend hours on one of Spock’s leave days creating exquisite culinary masterpieces. Sometimes Chekov would chat away about whatever he was learning with his tutors or a particularly difficult telemetry problem he was working on. Sometimes they would work in relative silence. Occasionally, like today, Spock would recount tales from his childhood on Vulcan.

Unfortunately, Spock’s story was not engrossing enough that Chekov completely forgot about his original goal. As they carefully crimped the edges of the folded dough, Chekov asked, “Were there skittles on Vulcan when you lived there?”

Spock let out a controlled breath. “No, _dorogoy_. I have never eaten skittles.”

“Never eaten skittles? Well, I’ll give you some of mine so you can try them.”

“That is a generous offer. Can you please finish my last few dumplings? I must take this communication from the bridge.”

Chekov nodded and stepped over to where Spock had been working with his vegetarian dumplings.

“Please wash your hands before you touch the vegetables with your contaminated hands,” Spock reminded as he walked toward his and Jim’s sleeping quarters. He pulled out his communicator once he’d shut the door and called Jim.

“Have you acquired the skittles yet?” Spock asked in way of greeting.

“I love you too,” Jim replied. “But no, I haven’t. Scotty didn’t have any, but he only found that out after searching several of his hidden candy stashes. I’m currently knocking on all the doors of the new Earth recruits.”

“Are you abusing your authority as captain, Jim?”

“Yep. Fingers crossed for me.”

“Chekov is growing rather impatient. He asked me if I had skittles on Vulcan.”

“Aw, now he knows the extent of your tragic childhood.”

“Please return shortly. We’re making _pelmeni_ for dinner, and it should be ready in the next forty-two minutes.”

“If only you’d given me a more precise deadline.” Jim, Spock imagined, was rolling his eyes while saying this.

At that moment Chekov interrupted. He stuck his head into the room. “Father, I’m ready to boil the _pelmeni_ , but I need your help.”

Spock looked over at Chekov, “Okay, I shall be there in a moment.” Into the communicator, he hissed, “You have forty minutes to return to our quarters with skittles.”

* * *

As Jim rushed into his private family quarters, he could hear Spock telling Chekov, “The Captain is not the most punctual, but I did tell him that our meal would be ready at this time.”

“I’m here! I’m here!” Jim said. He strode into the kitchen and was promptly engulphed in a hug around his waist.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, kiddo. What did you make me? It smells good.”

“We made _pelmeni_!”

“Hmm, what’s that? It sounds Spanish.”

“No! It’s Russian!”

“Oh, I see.”

“Did you get me—” Chekov was silenced by a narrow-eyed look from Spock.

Seeing this, Jim laughed. “Presents after dinner, kiddo.”

Dinner was delicious. Jim always enjoyed what Spock and Chekov came up with, and the evening was especially filled with laughter and exuberance after two weeks of being apart. Jim told stories of Spock’s confusion at certain Earth customs, and Spock commented here and there, undermining the glorified image Jim was constructing of himself. But Jim could see Chekov fidgeting throughout the meal. Spock kept sending him questioning glances as well. Jim was caught between drawing out their suffering and ending it swiftly.

Finally, Jim set down his cutlery and said, “Well, that was wonderful. Thank you.”

Chekov’s eyes lit up. “Is it time? Can I have my candy?”

“I thought you were making dessert, kiddo. I didn’t get any candy.”

Chekov frowned and then he looked at Jim suspiciously. “It’s a trick. You know we didn’t make dessert.”

“Okay, that’s true,” Jim said. “But I couldn’t find the exact thing you wanted. I got you this instead.”

Jim glanced at Spock who looked worried—though if Jim had to bet on it, he was sure he’d make a ton of money because no one else would have guessed Spock was anything other than serene. Jim winked at him and pulled a red object from his pocket. With a flourish he placed it in front of Chekov.

“ _Goûtez le rainbow_ ,” Chekov read slowly. He looked up at Jim. “These _are_ skittles!!!”

“Yeah, but they’re French skittles, not Russian ones. Sorry, kiddo.”

“Daddy! They’re _skittles_. They were invented in Russia.” Chekov stood up, hugged Jim again, hugged a still-sitting Spock, and ran into the living room to sort his skittles by colour.

Spock looked at Jim and raised an eyebrow. “You’re a wonderful mother, Captain.”


End file.
